


Pack Instinct

by InterNutter



Series: Primal Instincts [5]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: But with more snuggles, Childbirth, Gen, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13514157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterNutter/pseuds/InterNutter
Summary: Angus is thirty, he and his wife are expecting their second child. Taako insists that it's twins, again.This time, luume'irma strikes just as Agatha is about to go into labor.[Last one I THINK. This shiny plotbunny crossed my path, you see...]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Adventure Zone in general and the Balance Arc in particular belong to the McElroys, who do excellent podcasts. Luume’irma belongs to @interstellarvagabond on Tumblr. Give them money. This fic has happened thanks to the query of Maemi2295 on AO3. You’re a darling. Thank you.
> 
> From the Encyclopedia Faerunica...
> 
> Luume’irma (n): (pron: loom ER-ma) Lit “Time of Desire” in Elven. Also known as That Time of the Decade, The Cycle, Fuck Fever, Luume, Aunt/Uncle Irma, The Heat, The Passion, A Great Excuse For Smut, Fantasy Pon Farr, or, Oh Fuck Not This Again. In Elves in good health, the cycle begins at anywhere between age sixty and age eighty, and continues every ten years until their early seven hundreds, or when their health can no longer sustain the exertions inherent in the ordeal.
> 
> Luume onset is largely considered another stage of Elven puberty, separate from their superficial physical maturity.
> 
> Progression: Elves experiencing Luume initially experience fever-like symptoms, followed by increasing discomfort and lowering capacity for focus and rational thought. If they do not have a sexual partner, and no young, they will actively seek a sexual partner. Any attempt to resist the impulse results in increasing discomfort to the point of pain.
> 
> Elves under the influence experience a heightened metabolism as well as fertility for a period no longer than seventy-two hours, or three days. They exude elevated levels of pheromones and, in extremis, have been known to vocalise at a primitive level. In brief, int and wis briefly become the sufferer’s dump stat while strength and endurance are ramped up to the maximum.
> 
> Contrary to popular belief, Elves under the influence do not rape. They can sense consent or desire in another, but their usual selective criteria are generally forgotten in favour of (a) alive, and (b) willing.
> 
> Following the orgasmic rush of lust, Elves are typically exhausted and in need of restocking their usual reserves. Some experience an enhanced need to ‘stock up’ before the enter Luume and thus have some warning of their oncoming cycle. Most are not that lucky.
> 
> Amelioration: Elves with family experience their cycle far differently than ones without. The Elf under the influence becomes extremely protective and nurturing, becoming ten times as deadly to anyone or thing perceived to be an enemy to the Elf in question, their young or their partner(s).
> 
> Underage Elves are usually massaged at pressure points near and on their ears to ‘turn off’ the worst effects of Luume, or are given the care of a much younger Elf for the duration.
> 
> Complications: The first Luume an Elf is allowed to experience without interference is always the hardest to hit. No exceptions.
> 
> Elves who have endured an impoverished or malnourished childhood are no longer capable of experiencing a regular cycle, or even regular symptom progression. The first anyone else around them knows about it is witnessing their friend become a sex (or nurturing) obsessed animal with a limited or non-existent vocabulary.

It was a scorching summer day and the absolute best time to be in a house meant to breathe. Young Agnes, or Aglet if you asked ‘Grampa’ Taako, was in and out of the swimming hole when she wasn’t in and out of the cuddle cote. Or, as Agnes preferred to call it, “the big cubby”.

Agatha didn’t have the get up and go to chase her exuberant little one around. She was  _ that _ pregnant, and sick of being  _ that _ pregnant. Even breathing was coming to be a chore. So she strategically picked the comfiest chair in the house with the best cross-breezes, and attempted to aestivate the heat away.

Taako, bless his soul, was happy to wait on her hand and foot while everyone else bustled around for things, or chase Agnes around, or involve themselves in summertime goofing off.

Taako, having dropped off the latest batch of drinks, paused to lean on and listen to her enormous middle.

“The baby is not kicking, today,” she whispered.

“Babies,” cooed Taako. He kept insisting that it was going to be twins. The same goof as five years ago.

“Twins only run in  _ your _ family, Grampa.”

He opened his eyes. Intense stare. Dilated pupils. Summer’s heat had hidden the specific flush in his cheeks. “Babies soon,” he cooed. “You need safety.” And then he picked her up.

_ Aw shit. _

Luume’irma had hit Taako like a soft and gentle sponge. This was the most coherent he had been through any attack. He seemed more drunk than primitive. If one discounted the steady step and strong arms.

Agatha waved to her husband and father-in-law. Drawing their attention to the impending situation.

By the time they were getting themselves organised, she had already been ushered into the cuddle cote. Which was amazingly clean despite the deprivations of a summer-hyper child bouncing in and out of there from being in the swimming hole with mud on her feet. And, for that matter, a summer-hyper child that both her immediate Grampas had been spoiling rotten with cookies and assorted sugar products.

There was no arguing with Taako under the influence of Luume, but that didn’t stop her trying. “The doctors said I have another month, yet.”

“Babies  _ soon,” _ said Taako, and busied himself with rearranging the bedding inside the cote. He was tossing aside the usual fluffy comfort stuff and rooting around amongst the pillows and cushions and making a sort of soft hollow out of what Agatha knew to be the most disposable fabrics in his very grand, very excessive house.

Angus brought in a big bowl of finger foods. Setting it into the appointed nook. “You okay, honey?”

“Taako thinks I’m going to give birth in here,” she singsonged as the Elf himself fussed over fabric and cushion arrangements. “Maybe we could call our doctor? Just in case?”

“I’ll do that,” Angus reassured.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the one with childbirth details in it. If this squicks you out, feel free to skip the chapter.

“We’ve… got a situation,” said Mr Angus McDonald at the other end of the connection. He explained as he usually explained. Concisely. Rationally. And with all the technical data and verbiage at his disposal.

There was an Elf at the centre of all of this. Taako. One of the Seven Birds who had saved the world from the Hunger. He and his sister had a famously erratic Lumme’irma cycle, which included one incredibly sudden and incredibly hard episode in the middle of a festival celebrating the anniversary of their victory. Both of The Twins had leaped onto their respective lovers in savage abandon, and it was only quick thinking and some Reaper portals that saved it from becoming a public scandal. All four of them showed up two days later. Rumpled, grinning, and walking funny.

Medics and Clerics across the world used The Twins as a case study.

And, according to Mr McDonald, Taako was deep into nesting mode. Something that was only vaguely associated with unsynchronised packs of Elves. Even if there wasn’t a birth in the offing - which Doctor Mawlitt believed in his soul - this was a rare opportunity to witness such behaviour in action.

He had no doubt that Taako’s twin was having the time of her life with her husband. That sort of behaviour was  _ widely _ known and assumed to be the luume default.

“I might take some time to reach you,” he allowed, looking up the timetables and figuring out his Fantasy Uber budget.

“Uh. No it won’t, sir,” said Mr McDonald.

And there was a tearing sound in the air beside him. “Doctor Payne Mawlitt, you are coming with me.”

And that was the moment that Mawlitt remembered that Mr Angus McDonald counted the  _ Grim Reaper _ as one of his dads. “Let me get my go bags?” he asked.

Go bags seized, one with delivery items - just in case - and the other with everything else, including his notebook, Mawlitt took the Reaper’s hand (how many doctors could  _ say _ that?) and stepped briefly through another reality and into Casa de Taako.

It was a blend of modern building materials and traditional Elven architecture. If one could use the phrase “Elven architecture” on a series of rooms that were grown into a living tree.

He was greeted by a very small five-year-old with muddy feet, clad only in a bathing costume. “Grampa says Mom’s having her baby right now,” she announced, giggling and bouncing in place.

“Darling,” said the Grim Reaper, regaining his fleshy form. “How could you miss a perception check for the multitude of door mats we have?”

“I don’t have my glasses on, Popop.”

Mr McDonald took Mawlitt to what the family called ‘the cuddle cote’. Which was an incredibly traditional Elven cote. All curved edges and tight quarters. Made for relaxation, concealment, and more than a certain amount of defense. It was often one of the first structures made into an Elven tree house, if Mawlitt remembered his history.

Mrs McDonald was perched almost upright. Lying back across a perpendicular Taako, who was thrumming a thunderous purr. Right into the small of her back.

The purr stuttered to a halt, and Taako’s mismatched eyes bored directly into Mawlitt’s soul. Assessing.

“Help babies?” said Taako.

“That’s right,” Mr McDonald cooed in careful, singsong tones. “Doctor Mawlitt is going to take a look at Agatha and help out. He has all his tools and everything he needs. Just in case.”

Mrs McDonald’s shoes were already off, and Taako assisted in helping her get her bottoms off and into something approaching an ancient birthing crouch. Which was a horrible old superstition-filled way of doing things.

“Let’s get you laying down,” he began, starting to move her.

_ Growl… _ Taako rather  _ insisted _ that Mrs McDonald remained upright.

“Oh… kay. Let’s try it this way.” Gloves on. Disinfected - Taako sniffed and snorted at that. Mawlitt focussed on examining Mrs McDonald at a really awkward angle. Which involved some twisting and turning on his part.

“What’s he doin’ to Mom?”

“The doctor’s feeling inside Mom to see how things are going in there. It’s uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt. Hey. Do you want to help Popop make butterscotch cookies?”

“DO I?”

Ugh. This was why home births were the  _ worst. _

“And how are you feeling, Agatha?”

“A lot better since Taako took me in here. It’s lovely. Not too hot. Not too cool. And his purring is frankly heaven for my back.” She puffed and blew. “These practice contractions can... go to hell, though.”

Taako nudged her knees wider. The rhythm of his purring changed.

“Well. Your mucal plug is still intact. I’ll take a listen to the heartbeat in a second, but I’m positive you still have another mon--”

And then her waters broke.

“Babies  _ now,” _ said Taako, smuggest Elf in the Multiverse.

This was the worst. This was the absolute worst. Limited access. In a home. With the family nearby and a highly territorial Elf who would  _ not _ let Mawlit do anything the modern way.

Taako changed positions from back rest to full on support. Holding Mrs McDonald up by looping his arms around her shoulders and kneeling on the quasi-platform behind her. He breathed rhythmically in her ear, purring the entire time, to coach her in a time-honoured pain assistance technique.

More old-fashioned superstition.

What shocked Mawlitt was how the bedding underneath his patient magically cleaned itself of any kind of mess. There were ancient runes that were glowing and Mawlitt guessed correctly that this cote had a self-cleaning charm invested in its walls.

In this case, and possibly this case alone, the old ways were good ways.

Mr McDonald popped his head into the cote. “Is everything okay?”

“Babies now,” cooed Taako.

“Your wife’s gone into early labour. Just. Keep your family out of here for a few hours and contact the duty nurse at Neverwinter Maternal. I’ll need someone who knows what all the instruments are called.”

“Right away, sir,” said Mr McDonald. “I can help in the interim. I have been studying medical interventions.”

“That’s nice,” said Mawlitt. The last thing he needed was an expectant father on the scene. “Just keep your daughter out of here and--”

And there was the daughter. “Somethin’s comin’ out of Mom!”

Mawlitt looked. The baby shouldn’t be crowning already! This sort of thing took hours! Nevertheless, he supported her perineum and eased the head out. Turning it so that the shoulders could come next. Which happened really quickly.

“Wwwwooooooooowwww…” cooed the daughter.

“C’mon pumpkin, this is private stuff. Let’s leave Mom to do this.”

Mawlit cleared the nose and throat. Brand new lungs quickly employed in the ancient complaint that the warm and comfortable womb was no longer available. “It’s a boy,” he said, using the suspiciously convenient terry-towelling to clean and dry the newborn. He reached for the forceps and the scalpel to cut the cord.

_ Growl… _ Taako shook himself. “Don’t bite doctor,” he told himself. “You wait. For. Cord… white…” he sank again. Back to a more primal self. “No… cut… Wait.” More panting breaths. His hands undid the top of Mrs McDonald’s dress. “Baby eat.”

Another terrible old superstition. But, since he was in an enclosed space with a potentially homicidal Elf, Mawlit decided not to argue. He wrapped the new Master McDonald up in more terry-towelling, umbilical still attached, and handed him up for Mrs McDonald to suckle him.

Taako was still holding her upright. Still enforcing the horrible old birthing crouch.

Right. The afterbirth. Mawlitt doubted that Taako would let him near her with his more useful instruments, so he took an opportunity to feel around up there and see how well everything was moving. If at all.

And he encountered a second body. A second baby. To be precise, a second baby butt.

Shit.

So far, the proto-Elf had been right about everything.

Fuck.

Mawlit turned the kid around and listened for a heartbeat. Strong and even. Just right for a baby about to be born.

“Okay,” he sighed, extracting himself. “Mrs McDonald… you’re about to have a twin.”

Taako reached a smugness critical mass.

“He’s going to be  _ intolerable,” _ complained Mrs McDonald.

“Babies,” cooed Taako.

Twin number two entered the world a mere ten minutes after his brother. And then the shared placenta came out in one piece. Taako wrapped it in terry-towelling too, and then actively guarded Mrs McDonald from Mawlitt and his instruments.

“It’s past time to cut the cord,” Mawlitt insisted.

“Wait,” growled Taako.

Mawlitt sighed, and poked his head out of the cote crawl-hole. “Can one of you please come reason with this luume-crazed Elf? He’s  _ interfering…” _

Mr McDonald was there in a flash. “What’s happening, sir?”

“Your babies are born, but this  _ creature _ won’t let me cut their cords. He wants me to wait until the cords drain white.”

“Oh. Is that all?” said Mr McDonald. “I’ve been doing some research on that matter, and babies that have delayed cord cuttings often prosper a lot better than babies who get theirs cut immediately. It won’t hurt to let things ride, sir.”

“Baby!” Taako called from within. “Baby babies!”

“May I come see, sir?”


	3. Chapter 3

Grampa reeled her in for a purring hug the second she got back into the cubby. Started rubbing away the mud at her feet. Started combing the water out of her hair.

“Grampa,” Agnes whined. “I wanna see my brothers.”

“Clean baby,” was all he said, using his legs to keep her still.

Agnes barely remembered the last time Grampa had done something like this. “Papa… is Grampa having his silly time?”

Papa looked up from the babies. “Yes, pumpkin. He’s having his silly time. And he  _ should _ be real sleepy by now…”

“Skinny baby,” Grampa cooed, offering her some of the homemade granola bars that were in the cubby.

Agnes giggled at him. “You’re being silly, Grampa. Go have a nap-nap.”

“Not safe.”

Once she passed Grampa’s inspection, she scooted over to Mom to look at the babies. They were just as brown as her and their heads were pointy and they were really, really tiny. “Do they have names yet?”

Papa carefully patted one on the bottom. “This is Aloicious, he was born first. And this is the babyest brother, Ambrose.”

Grampa was staring at the cords that came out of both swaddlings. They were weird and rubbery and were looking pale.

“White,” he announced. “Now cut.” And he got out of the way of the doctor.

Agnes wanted to watch, but Papa hustled them all out of there. Including Grampa, who snarled a little about it until he saw Popop. And then he did the gross kissing and hugging stuff like Mom and Papa did.

Papa made it better with milkshakes and cookies. Special Agnes cookies that she’d made with Popop while Grampa was busy with Mom.

“Can I show an’ tell my brothers at kindy tomorrow?” she asked. “I can say I saw Aloicious come outta Mom!”

Both Papa and Popop looked vaguely horrified. “No, pumpkin,” said Papa. “Mom and the babies are going to need a lot of rest. They shouldn’t be going on tour for at least a little while.”

“And you should definitely not tell people you saw your brother come out,” said Popop.

“Why?” asked Agnes.

Their potential explanation was cut short by Grampa falling over with a big snore.


	4. Chapter 4

There were two little people in the crib. Lucky that Mags had made it big enough for one of his godawful dogs. They were sleeping peacefully and they had special identity bracelets on their tiny, pudgy wrists.

“Aloicious is on the left,” said Angus. “And that’s Ambrose on the right.”

“Identical twins,” repeated Taako. Possibly for the infinitieth time. And then he glared venom at his adopted son. “Is this going to be a fucking  _ theme _ with you?”

Angus gave him a shit-eating grin. “You’d better bet on it, sir.”

“I still told you so,” he said. “So I guess we’re even, this time.”

Agnes entered on tip-toe. “Grampa, you’d better not steal my brothers.”

“They’re only brothers until further notice, Aglet. One or both of them might change their mind about that. Happened to my sister. Could happen again.”

“It’s pretty rare, sir,” said Angus. “But we’re ready for all possibilities.”

Taako got real smug. Smug was the word of the week. He would roll in smug. Emanate smugness. Revel in it. “Starting to learn, eh? Your old man is never wrong.”

“Well, sir, there was the time you thought you’d poisoned me when I had the flu..”

“Agnes…”

“And the time you forgot your sister existed..”

“That was the voidfish and you know it, bucko.”

“And the time you thought you could bake an upside-down cake  _ upside-down…” _

“I got real close that time.” Taako would never admit it, but he loved these family blast sessions. Even when they had to take it outdoors, lest they wake the newborn twins.

They took it back indoors when Graunty Lup and Grunkle Barold arrived to coo and chirp over the brand new McDonald boys. Deshabile as they always were after a luume run-in.

Or, in the case of Barold, just scruffy.

Meanwhile, dear Doctor Payne Mawlitt was thoroughly impressed by the new twins’ absolute lack of “the usual” post-natal problems and was starting to do some research into the outmoded and superstitious birthing methods that Taako vaguely recalled being an assistant for. At last contact, he was looking up some old wives to check the veracity of their tales.

Everything old was new again.

 

END!


End file.
